


gen 3:7

by hikaie



Category: Far Cry 5, Far Cry: New Dawn
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Stockholm Syndrome, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 08:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17546030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaie/pseuds/hikaie
Summary: "Be not afraid." He murmurs, and his hands go to the worn lines of Rook's aging face, to the damp and chafed patches where the mask has lain so long.





	gen 3:7

**Author's Note:**

> no gods no masters we make our own canon now aka all the tidbits coming out about new dawn are hurting me and im molding them all into what i want and its super indulgent HAHA!
> 
> stockholm syndrome tag bc maybe?? idk how i feel about it? better to be safe

"Come here." Joseph says softly. Everything about him is soft these days, scars faded to white, severe expressions measured to placidity, and his stomach padded with loose skin.

The Judge goes. Kneels obediently at his feet. Beyond this moment the night is young, alive with crickets and the smell of woodsmoke. Something somewhere is cooking, the tantalizing smell of game wafting through the air, between the folds of the furs hiding them away in this almost-private space. The Judge goes; allows Joseph to pull away the fur, and press back the hood, and delicately unknot the worn leather. He is gentle with the mask. Here, in his grace, Rook surfaces.

"Be not afraid." He murmurs, and his hands go to the worn lines of Rook's aging face, to the damp and chafed patches where the mask has lain so long.

"Not of you." Rook agrees, shakes her head. "Never of you."

He looks at her for a few moments. Once, he told her he likes to just look- after the mask is off; a soft confession that he had missed her.

"Ethan was asking after you." Here, his fingers go to the pockmarks crowning Rook's right eye. They go across her forehead- remnants of the crash. His eyes are terribly, cruelly fond.

She is puzzled. "He saw me today. I was training the new Judge."

"Mm. He sees The Judge. He asks for his mother."

Without thinking, Rook flinches. Joseph's eyes are a yawning abyss- not disappointment. Almost sad, if she thought him capable of the emotion. "Darling. I know how committed you are to paying your penance. However-"

"Stop." She breathes, and he does. This is what they are now: nearly two decades of understanding. Loyalty and words passing in glances. Still, she is kneeling at his feet, and more exposed than she has been in a fortnight. Shedding that second skin is a process- she must file away her inhuman wrath, and expose the kernel within. This flesh is still a scared, guilty child.

"God saw fit to deliver you unto me, and unto this place." His thumb follows the curve of her cheek to her mouth. Rook closes her eyes, desperately willing away her nausea. "He has found use in you. He forgives."

She is crying, a thing she does only when he preaches like this. His mouth is a plush brand, searing marks beneath her eyelids and across her mouth. "He forgives. You are forgiven."

"Joseph." Rook gasps, and he folds her against his body, into the warm embrace of his limbs. Until she can forget who and what she is; until she can almost believe him.


End file.
